


Reset and Restart, Sweetheart

by VampireSpider



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireSpider/pseuds/VampireSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They haven’t kissed since the Panthers’ game. In fact, Sid’s barely touched him.</p><p>Following Geno's concussion, Sid and Geno have some communication issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reset and Restart, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Two months ago, I swore I wouldn't write hockey fic. It was a good run. 
> 
> All of my thanks to Gem, cheerleader & beta, & to Bellaphant, who let me dubcon her into the fandom & puts up with 3am texts about the Pens' defensive line-up. Sorry, not sorry.

They haven’t kissed since the Panthers’ game. In fact, Sid’s barely touched him. The first couple of days, it doesn’t really register – Geno’s too shaken and too busy to notice. He has doctor’s appointments, meetings with Dan, with Mario, he has physiotherapists to see and in between all that he sleeps, reassures his parents, and sleeps more. His headache fades mercifully quickly, and by day three, he starts thinking about getting back on this ice. He misses it. Neal and Cookie come over after their morning practice and rib him about being fragile – it’s dumb, but nice, easy. 

It isn’t like Sid disappears in all this – he drives him to his first doctor’s appointment, is there when Geno meets with Dan to go on IR. He orders Geno’s food for him the day after the game. And he’s a surprisingly calm presence when he’s around – Sid’s concerned, solicitous; he speaks quietly to Geno, is almost gentle with him. By day three, Sid’s chirping him a little about winning without him in the line-up when he sees him at CONSOL. Sid keeps his distance, though; there are no friendly punches or even arm pats.

Geno appreciates the support, he does. He appreciates that Sidney – strangely, uncharacteristically – doesn’t push, isn’t persistently asking how Geno is (unlike his mother), whether he feels ready to come back. But this thing between them, it’s so new – figures it would take a lockout and being halfway around the world for him to finally risk be honest about how he feels about Sidney, to be honest with Sidney – and Geno doesn’t know what to expect. He isn’t sure whether he’s getting Captain-Sid or Boyfriend-Sid. 

*

The Pens go on the road, and Geno realises that he hasn’t kissed Sidney since the night of his concussion, when Sidney’d found him coming out of the quiet room after the game, and pressed a quick soft kiss against his jaw. Geno had been so out of it, so thrown, that he hadn’t reacted at all, just said, “Hey.”

“We won,” Sid had said, pulling back from Geno, but leaving his hand on Geno’s upper arm. “You’re gonna be all right.” His voice had been calm, only shaking a little with post-game adrenaline, like he’d _known_ that Geno wasn’t seriously hurt. 

That was the last time, which is weird. Sidney, surprisingly, has turned out to be – not touchy-feely by any measure, but when they’re alone he touches Geno easily, kissing his shoulder or bumping his hip. But of course, they’ve barely been alone since the concussion – Sid hasn’t come over, hasn’t asked Geno to come to his, and that’s weird. Sidney doesn’t really like to be alone for long stretches of time. 

It’s probably nothing, Geno thinks – the stress of upcoming games, Geno’s busy schedule of recovery getting in the way. It sticks in his mind, though.

*

Sid calls after their game against Florida. Geno’s lying on his couch in the dark, Jeffrey snuffling on the floor next to him. He didn’t watch the game, but Neal text to tell him the result. Sid’s wound up about the loss when he calls, concerned up their upcoming game in Carolina, Geno can hear it in his voice. However, Sid mechanically asks questions about Geno’s doctor’s appointment that day, his physio session, standard questions which Geno’s had from Mario, from Dan – and this is definitely Captain-Sid. But it was a bad loss, and Sid’s probably distracted by that, so Geno doesn’t know what it means.

“Will win next time, Sid,” he says, when the questions stop. Sidney sighs, soft and frustrated in Geno’s ear. 

“Thanks, G,” he says after a moment, sounding a less robotic and tired. Geno listens to him breathe for a short moment, rubbing a hand across his stomach. “Don’t watch tomorrow, okay?” Sidney says after a while. Geno groans, throwing an arm over his eyes – he knows the doctors have advised him not to watch TV, not to check his laptop, but he feels fine. He’s barely had a headache since the game.

“Bored,” he says, drawing out the last syllable, because he is – apart from speaking to his parents earlier, and texting Gonch, he’s done nothing today except loaf on his couch and listen to Russian radio. It’s been a long day. There’s a niggling pain beginning in his neck, and he should really get off the couch, but instead he listens to Sidney snort.

“Yeah, I know,” Sid says, and his voice is – it’s quiet and weirdly intimate, a little like his voice on the phone before the lockout ended. “It’ll pass soon, Geno,” Sid almost murmurs. He doesn’t know that, of course – knows better in fact – but it doesn’t matter. And Geno - Geno wishes Sid were here. He wants Sidney on his couch with him, feet tucked under Geno’s thighs, while Sid reads and Geno plays around on his laptop. They’ve only done that once or twice – for the most part, they play video games, watch games on the NHL channel or fuck – but Geno _misses_ it suddenly, misses the way Sid takes up space in his home. Sid’s in Florida, though, and Geno’s not allowed to use his laptop. He takes a deep breath and moves his arm. “You’re cleared for practice tomorrow, though, right?” Sid says, and yeah, Geno can give up television and computers for a chance to get back on the ice.

“Yes,” he says. “Afterwards, listen to game on the radio. In the dark.”

Sid makes a noise that Geno can’t decipher. “Yeah, okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound disapproving. 

“We win,” Geno says and Sid hums his agreement.

*

They lose. Sid doesn’t call him after the Hurricanes’ game, and Geno doesn’t know if he’s supposed to call him, doesn’t know if Sid wants him to. Usually after a loss, he lets Sid go home and wind down on his own, expends his own anger on the treadmill, and doesn’t think about Sidney at all until Sid texts him, usually to arrange breakfast for the next morning. Sid will be on a plane tomorrow, though, and Geno’s not sure whether Sid will even want to see him.

He spends about twenty minutes fretting over it, at least in part because he’s not really allowed to do anything else; he types out about seven different messages, all varying degrees of too much. In the end, he texts Sid **sorry (((** and goes to bed. 

He wakes up at four am and realises he forgot to turn off his phone. There’s a text from Sidney; it says **nice trick shot**. Geno blinks at it for long moments. He turns off his phone and goes to sleep.

*

The next morning, he’s up for morning skate with a couple of assistant coaches. The rest of the team’s not back from Carolina yet, and Geno skates for about forty minutes before he gets called off. He has a doctor’s visit, which is inconclusive – everything looks fine, he’s not getting headaches, he has his memory back, no, no blackouts, no recurring neck or shoulder pain. He gets congratulated on being a model patient, which makes him grin. “Have good concussion coach,” he tells the doctor. She looks at him like he’s strange, which he figures is probably fair.

 **Drs was fine))** he sends to Sid. He doesn’t get anything back, but they’re probably still in the air.

There’s a meeting with Dan, who looks over the doctor’s notes and hums sceptically. “Looks like you’ll be back with us soon,” he says, and Geno tries not to look too excited. He’s been a little worried that Dan might make him take more time off than he needs, just to be on the safe side. Everyone is careful, after Sidney. 

“I go slow,” he says. “I back when I pass the test.” Dan looks at him steadily for a moment and then nods. 

“We’ll clear you for team practice tomorrow,” Dan says. “If you feel comfortable, you can take the test over the weekend.” Geno smiles and thanks Dan – he doesn’t entirely know how he feels. He wants to get back on the ice, but on the other hand, it seems almost too easy. Unfairly so, which is stupid. He shakes himself and heads home.

At home, he tries to nap, but he can’t get comfortable, can’t stop thinking. The doctor recommended he rest as much as possible, but Geno’s not really tired, just irritated, without really knowing why. He wants to call Sid, let him know, but he’s reluctant to actually do it, wants – irrationally – Sid to call him. His phone buzzes, but it’s just Nealsy, asking if he’s put a curse on the team so they can’t win without him. Geno grins, rolls his eyes.

 **Not my fault ur terribl** he sends back. The next text he gets is just **fuck off.** He sends back **miss me lazy.** He gets **whatev. Want company?** back. It’s nice of Nealsy, who has to be busy trying getting ready for tonight, but Geno doesn’t really know if he’s up for a round of bitching about the ‘Canes and terrible chirping. He texts, **focus on habs, try win this time.** Neal doesn’t deign to reply to that. 

Still no word from Sid. Geno tries not to think about it, but his mind keeps catching on it. He’s not sure what it means that Sid’s not text; doesn’t know what it means that they haven’t fucked, haven’t kissed, have barely touched since the game. There wasn’t any sign of anything wrong before – it’s been good, surprisingly easy considering that it’s Sidney, considering Geno’s wanted him for what feels like years; yeah, they argue, and yeah, Sidney has weird boundaries and Geno occasionally freaks out at how much he wants this and has to be on his own for a while, but it’s been good. They’re playing together again and spending most of their days off together – mostly alone, but sometimes with the guys.

And it’s not like Sid to be freaked out by injuries on the team – he’s a considerate captain, but he knows the game. Geno sighs, turns over in his bed and presses his head into the pillow. It’s been a bad couple of games, and Sid – Sid doesn’t deal with losing streaks well. He’ll get it together before the game, Geno knows. After their second loss to the Devils in February, Sid had gone a little crazy and intense, watching the gameplay over and over, until Flower had called Geno to come take Sidney home. It is entirely possible that Sid is watching footage from the Canes game right now, and discussing strategy with Dan. 

After two hours, he gives up on sleep and makes himself dinner. He reads for a while in the living room, with Jeffrey curled up on the couch next to him. When he comes back to his bedroom, there’s still nothing from Sid. He frowns at his phone for a moment, considers maybe calling, but he feels exhausted and grumpy, and he turns off his phone and goes to sleep.

*

When he turns his phone on the next morning, there are two texts from Sid. **Glad drs was okay** , the first one says. The second one just says **Game sucked**. Geno wonders briefly if Sid thinks he jinxed them. It’s the kind of weird thought Sidney would have.

Geno doesn’t know what to do. After thinking about it for an embarrassingly long time – and he would have thought getting together with Sidney would mean feeling less confused about him – he texts back saying **good luck w/habs))**. He guesses that Sidney will already be in Montreal, or at least on the plane. It’s a surprise, then, when he gets a text back almost immediately. It just says **Thanks**. Three minutes later, his phone buzzes again. This time, the texts says, **Want a goal tonight?**

Geno has no idea what is going on in Sidney Crosby’s mind. He can’t even decide if the reason his heart speeds up is anger at Sid, or frustration at not being on the ice, or just that he misses him, stupidly. The text stays on his screen, nagging like Sidney normally would be, and there’s really only one answer, no matter what’s going on between them.

*

Sidney gets him the goal – the kind of goal that still takes Geno’s breath away, it’s so good. It’s the first game Geno has been able to watch since the concussion, and he kind of regrets it – it’s a great game, but he tenses up so much that he gives himself a headache, watching as the Pens even the score, then overtake, then lose their lead. By the time Sutter finally nets them the winning goal, his temples are throbbing. He feels happy, though, and almost content for the first time in the last five days. **Thanx for goal))** he sends to Sid. He gets a text back an hour later saying, **Kuni, Tanger, Sutter did the work**. A few moments later, he gets another: **Be back tomorrow**.

*

That night, Geno sleeps fitfully; he’s worried about his practice, worried about the concussion test. He keeps thinking about Sidney – and it’s not like they share a bed all that often, but his bed feels awkward, strangely big tonight. At 7am, he gets a text from Gonch, asking how he is, and there’s no point to trying to get back to sleep after that. He lets Sergei know that he’s fine and pads into the kitchen to let out Jeffrey and start the coffee maker. His body aches a little – not training ache, more like the ache he gets after being on a plane for a long time. The coffeemaker hisses and he groans as he goes to pour a cup. Back on the ice today, he thinks. He doesn’t want to think about maybe playing in the next game. It’s too soon. 

Jeffrey pads back into the kitchen and nudges Geno with his nose, and Geno lets himself be distracted for a few minutes by playing catch. It’s soothing, watching Jeffrey fall all over himself.

There’s a knock on his door, and Geno starts, then freezes. Most people ring the doorbell. 

Sidney’s on his doorstep, hands stuffed in his pockets and looking – well. Geno’s got no objectivity when it comes to Sidney, even now. He looks tired, but still good, cheeks red from the cold. 

Geno doesn’t want to think about what he looks like. He rubs a hand over his eyes and says, “Morning, Sidney.”

“Uh, hi,” Sidney says and he doesn’t sound like himself, not like recently – he sounds awkward and unsure. Geno thinks about the way Sidney used to be, back before the cup, thinks about Sidney during some of the worst moments during his concussion, and any anger he might have been feeling drains from him. He’s just tired, and he wants to touch Sid, wants reassurance that they’re okay. 

But he just says, “Sid,” and then Sid is moving forward, moving in, past Geno. Geno closes the door behind him. 

“Bad luck to talk over the threshold,” Sidney says, voice still odd. Geno’s kind of surprised he remembers. They stand close in the hallway, and Sidney’s hands are still in his pocket. “You okay, G?”

And enough is enough. “Sid,” Geno says, and he moves closer, close enough that he can feel Sidney’s breath on his face, and Sidney doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t take his hands out of his pocket either. “Sid,” Geno says again, “Being weird. Being _more_ weird.”

Sidney looks down, and then finally removes his hands from his pockets, only to clench them at his side. He looks up again, and he looks – not angry, not like when someone fucks up on the ice, but frustrated, a little like during his concussion, when his head would start to hurt or his reflexes would be off. Sid doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him.

“Talk,” Geno says, caught between feeling tender and annoyed. “Sid, something wrong?” He swallows and says, “You not touch, you not come over, being _weird_. You not want, anymore? Only have to say -” and he doesn’t mean that, but Sidney makes an odd noise and then he’s got his arms wrapped around Geno, tucking his face against Geno’s neck, and Geno – Geno has no idea what’s going on, but he can’t not wrap his arms around Sidney, can’t not pull him closer, until they’re basically clinging to each other in the hallway and not saying anything. Sid is warm and he smells so good, like his shampoo; it’s terrifying how much Geno’s missed him, even though it’s barely been a week, even though he’s _seen_ Sidney.

“Sorry,” Sidney mumbles into his neck, and Geno comes back to himself. He squeezes Sidney a little and then backs off.

“Sid, come in,” Geno says, when they’ve parted properly. “We talk. I have coffee.” Sid follows obediently enough. 

“When’s your practice?” Sid asks. Geno’s almost certain that Sidney has the practice schedule memorised, but he answers anyway.

In the kitchen, he reheats the coffee and then pours Sidney a mug. Sidney perches awkwardly on a chair and takes the mug gratefully from Geno, wrapping both hands around it. Geno sits down at a slight distance. He watches Sidney, who’s looking at Jeffrey, asleep on the floor. Outside, his neighbour’s kids are yelling in their yard.

“I’m sorry,” Sid says suddenly. He looks up at Geno. “I _am_.” Geno nods, not sure what to say. “I didn’t – I wasn’t,” and he looks down, frustration clear on his face. He takes a breath, and Geno resists the urge to tell him it’s fine, to go over and just _touch_ Sidney. “I didn’t know what to do.” Sidney looks up, and his eyes are wide, but his mouth is set, determined – game face, Geno thinks and deliberately doesn’t smile. “I uh – I haven’t done this, Geno. You know that,” he says, after a short pause. He looks down at his mug. “And I wasn’t ready – I didn’t know I’d be so scared when you went down.” It shakes Geno – Sidney seemed so calm, was so responsible, it’s wrenching to think that he was scared, that he hid that. 

“Not know that you were scared,” he says, and his voice sounds odd. “Seemed okay.” Sidney looks up at him, and he looks confused, biting his lip.

“I was being a good captain,” he says. And Geno doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, really – he should have known, _did know_ , that Sidney reverts to familiar patterns when he’s scared, goes for routines and the well-known. But it’s still so new, still feels secret and fragile, this thing between them, and Geno didn’t realise, didn’t think that Sidney would be scared.

“Didn’t know,” Geno says again. “Thought maybe you changed mind.” He wants to explain better, but he can’t find the right words in English. “Should have said. That you were scared.” He looks at Sid, and the expression on his face makes him think of the first time he saw Sid after the lockout; it’s that same hesitation on Sid’s face, like he’s not sure what he’s allowed to do, and Geno forgets sometimes that Sid hasn’t dated much, has never had a long term relationship. Sid doesn’t get that it’s okay to screw up. “Sid,” he says, getting off the chair and coming round to crouch next to Sid. “Is okay. Should have said, but scared. I should have asked, too. Both mess up, a little. Is okay.”

“It’s not,” Sidney says. “I should have been there for you. I should have been better as – as your boyfriend.” Sidney says the last bit in a rush and it takes a moment for Geno to parse it. When he does, his heart skips a beat, and he’s so easy for Sid, so easy for _them_ , because he can’t hide his smile. 

“Well,” he says, wrapping a hand around Sid’s wrist. “You get better. I coach.” Sidney looks at him incredulously for a moment and then he giggles.

“Drills?” he says, and he’s smiling at Geno, even though he still looks a little cautious. 

“Lots of drills,” Geno says, moving a little closer. “Lots of practices. I bad coach in the last week, but will be better. ” And Sidney laughs properly, his awkward honking laugh; Geno’s stomach flips a little. Then Sidney reaches out, brushes his fingers along Geno’s cheekbone and pulls him forward. 

“Okay?” Sid whispers and Geno hums his approval; Sidney closes the distance between them, and he kisses Geno slowly, so fucking gently, a soft press of lips, and Geno is bored of being cautious, is bored of holding back. He presses closer, slides Sidney’s lower lip between his and licks. Sidney pushes his hand into Geno’s hair and opens his mouth easily against Geno’s, lets Geno take control of the kiss, making it a little messy, a little wet, despite the gentleness. And it’s so good; Geno’s almost overwhelmed by how much he’s missed this, missed the low noises Sid makes, the way he gives into Geno, lets himself be led, doesn’t try to rush the kiss.

“Missed you,” Sidney whispers, pulling away a little, leaning his forehead against Geno’s. “On the ice as well, but,” and he’s blushing a little – Geno reaches out, traces the line of the blush on Sid’s throat, gratified when Sid leans into the touch. “I missed this too,” Sid says finally.

“Yeah,” Geno agrees. “I not go anywhere, though.” Sid leans forward, brushes his mouth against Geno’s, his free hand coming to rest against Geno’s hip, warm and strong even through Geno’s sweatshirt.

“I know,” Sid says, kissing him again. “I’m sorry.”

“Is okay,” Geno says, stroking a thumb down Sidney’s neck, pressing the palm of his hand against Sidney’s clavicle. “You screw up, you apologise, we move on.” He kisses Sidney’s cheek, soft, reassuring. “Miss you too.”

“You’ve been all right, though? No headaches,” Sid says, pulling back and getting his hand out of Geno’s hair. His expression is serious, but his cheeks are pink and his pupils are a little wider than usual. Geno rubs his thumb over Sid’s wrist, feels his pulse.

“Fine, Sid. Going to practice later, remember?”

“Oh!” Sidney sounds like he might have forgotten and Geno grins. “Yeah, of course. I should probably let you get ready.” He shifts a little, as if he’s going to stand up, but his wrist is still caught in the circle of Geno’s hand, and he doesn’t let go of Geno’s hip. He swallows, and Geno watches him. “I – uh, I need to go home, and sleep, but maybe we could have dinner together? Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Geno says. “Would be nice. You tell me about Habs.” Sidney grins a little. 

“You watched?” he asks. 

“Doctor said it was okay,” Geno says, because he does not need Sid panicking about his head right now. “Messy game,” he adds, because he knows it’ll distract Sid. 

Sure enough, Sidney lets go of Geno, and says, “We won, didn’t we?”

“Win better with me,” Geno says, but he grins to soften it. 

Sidney goes serious anyway, says, “Yeah.” 

*

Practice goes well; it’s nice skating with a group again, and he’s setting up plays well, scoring with relative ease. It feels like he’s up to speed – maybe even better than normal, passes coming easy and his feet moving smoothly before he’s even consciously thought about it. 

Dan corners him afterwards. “You looked good out there,” he says approvingly. Geno smiles, shrugs. “You want to take the test today? We could possibly clear you for the Bolts’ game tomorrow.” Geno is a little shaken – he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he wants back on the ice, and playing tomorrow, getting back to normal –

“Yeah,” he says. “I do test.”

The test is easy; he passes with flying colours, Dan grinning when he sees the results. “Ready to face Tampa?” he asks when he sees Geno afterwards.

“Yes, coach,” Geno says, and he can’t stop grinning either. 

“Go home, get some rest,” Dan tells him. “I want you running full steam tomorrow.” 

*

At home, he calls his mother, who’s happy for him, but – “You are fully recovered, yes? Not pretending to be healthy?”

“I am not an idiot,” he tells her. “Anyway, after what happened with Sid, you think Dan would let me go out early?” She sighs. 

“Get goals,” she says, as always. He grins into the phone.

“Make Russia proud?” he asks. She laughs.

“Don’t get beaten by teams from the tropics,” she says. There’s a lull, and Geno crouches down to pet Jeffrey, gets his hand slobbered on for his trouble. “Is Sidney okay?” his mother asks then. Geno wipes his hand on his jeans and breathes in.

“He’s fine,” he says. “Got a good goal against Montreal.” His mother snorts.

“I know that,” she says. “I meant with you. Is he okay with you?” Geno’s mother was the first person he told about Sidney, before the lockout had even ended, and she worries – she likes Sidney (“Very Canadian, very polite,” she says), but that doesn’t mean she thinks he’s necessarily worth the risks. 

“Yes,” Geno says. He hadn’t told her about the weirdness between them when it was going on, can’t see any reason to tell her now. “We’re fine,” he says, because it’s true, and because he’s too happy, too excited about getting back on the ice, playing tomorrow, and Sidney coming over tonight to dwell on anything. “He’s over for dinner,” he tells her. “I should probably go get ready.”

“As if you are cooking,” she scoffs, but she says her goodbyes and sends her love to Sid and the rest of the team. “Goals!” she says, right before Geno hangs up. He laughs. 

*

Sidney turns up at 6.15. When Geno opens the door, he’s relieved to see that Sidney’s hands aren’t stuffed in his pockets. They kiss hello in the hallway, and Sid’s gentle with him, but not overly hesitant. Geno smiles against his mouth.

Over dinner they talk about the Habs game, Bennett returning to Wilkes-Barre/Scranton (“He’ll be back,” Sid says confidently. “He’s a good kid.” 

“Sid sound like old man,” Geno says, and Sid punches his shoulder lightly), and Geno updates him on his favourite Russian soap operas (“Tivo’d,” he explains, when Sid starts to look horrified. “Watch after doctors clear me, calm down.”)

It’s easy, friendly like it’s been between them even before Geno spoke all that much English. Sidney’s always been a good listener, even if he’s awkward, and he and Geno have a similar (terrible, according to most of the team) sense of humour, and Geno – Geno wouldn’t mind doing this every night. It’s too soon and too much, but the thought’s still there – how nice it would be, to have Sid here all the time. Except nice isn’t the word – they’d get on each other’s nerves, and Sid would bitch about his eating habits, and probably leave his ridiculous shoes everywhere, and fill his fridge with protein shakes, and Geno’s self-aware enough to know that he’d need time alone, would probably freak out a couple of times himself. Geno still wants it, and he ducks his head and eats another forkful of omelette, not looking at Sidney. 

Sidney must pick up on something, though, because he says, “You seem all right. I mean, you seem – happy?” He’s smiling slightly and Geno swallows, leans forward across the table and kisses him. It’s only supposed to be friendly, reassuring, but Sidney’s lips part beneath his, and his hands come up to rest against Geno’s chest. Geno licks into his mouth, gets one hand on Sid’s face, guiding him closer and deepening the kiss, and it goes from friendly hello to a little filthy; he hears himself groan into Sidney’s mouth. 

Sid breaks the kiss and he’s sort of breathless, his mouth wet. Geno curls a hand around the back of his neck, unwilling to let him move too far away. The table’s digging into Geno’s stomach, but he can’t bring himself to care too much. 

“G,” Sid says, and then stops, leaning forward to brush his mouth lightly against Geno’s. “You are, right? Happy, I mean.” He whispers it against Geno’s mouth and it takes a long moment for Geno to process what Sidney’s asking. He smiles.

“Yes,” he says, kissing Sidney quickly. “Got Sid. Going back on ice soon. Am happy.”

“Good,” Sidney says, and then they’re kissing properly again, Geno’s hands tangling in Sidney’s hair; it’s slow, unhurried and gentle, but Sid licks at Geno’s bottom lip, sucks lightly, and Geno’s not hard, but he’s getting there, can feel the tell-tale flaring of arousal at the base of his spine. He tugs Sid closer and then swears when he bumps his knee into a table leg. They break apart and Sidney laughs. 

“We should clear the table,” he says, pushing his chair back and piling up their plates. Geno pretends to grumble, but he follows Sidney into the kitchen. Sidney runs the tap and puts the plates in soak, scraping remains into the bin, and Geno feels a little useless, but mostly just enjoys watching Sid moving about so comfortably in his kitchen. He thinks briefly about pinning him here, blowing him right here against Geno’s cabinets, but – not tonight. Maybe soon. Instead, he crowds up against Sidney, slipping his thumbs through Sid’s belt loops and presses a kiss to the back of his neck, gratified when Sidney leans back into him, tilts his head a little. 

“I’ll drop the plates,” he says. Geno kisses lightly at the join between Sidney’s shoulder and neck, at the edge of his t-shirt collar, grazing the spot with his teeth. Sidney makes a noise that’s close to a whine, which shouldn’t be endearing, but is, and Geno feels – he feels like he did on the ice, like he’s back to normal, like he’s back at full-speed after coasting for a while. He’s half-hard.

“Leave plates,” Geno says against Sid’s throat, sucking at his pulse. “We go upstairs.”

“Yeah,” Sidney says, breathless and eager. “Yeah, okay.”

They fumble upstairs, stopping on the stairs to kiss, hands catching on belt loops. Geno pins Sid against the wall in his upstairs hallway, kissing him messily, a thigh between Sid’s leg, feeling Sid circle his hips, pressing closer, and Geno groans into his mouth. He drops his head to Sid’s shoulder. Sid’s warm and familiar, and he fits against Geno like this, like he was made for this, for Geno. It’s an impossibly sentimental thought.

“Geno,” Sid says, his voice breathy and low. “C’mon, Geno, bedroom.”

“Next time,” Geno says, not really knowing what he’s saying, “next time, you not disappear.” He pulls back a little to look at Sidney, pupils blown and lips parted. He feels that roll of arousal again, and presses into Sidney for a brief, tantalising moment.

“There’s not going to be a next time,” Sidney says, and his mouth sets. Geno kisses the corner of it quickly, strokes his thumb against Sidney’s wrist. “And you – you should tell me when I’m being a dick.”

“Worry,” Geno says, more to Sid’s neck than anything else. “Worry you not want.” He presses a kiss against Sidney’s throat. “Worry I being needy.” Sidney’s hand clenches on Geno’s hip, stopping him from moving for a moment.

“Dumb,” is all he says though, making Geno look up at him, and Sidney’s serious, focused and dark-eyed, looking back at Geno. “I love you.” And Geno’s heart stutters, because he knew, knew Sidney loved him – as a friend, as a teammate – but here, in the half-dark of his hallway, their dishes in the sink downstairs, it feels a bit like a hit on the ice. He can’t say anything for a second, and Sidney adds, “You don’t have to say it back, I know it’s early, I just, I couldn’t, you can’t think I don’t want you,” all in a rush and Geno has to kiss him, stop him talking, because it’s too much. The kiss is a little desperate, and Geno pulls back, gentles the it, licking the corner of Sid’s mouth, his bottom lip, pulling back to press a close-mouthed kiss against the bow of Sid’s lips.

“Love you, Sid,” he says against Sidney’s mouth. He can feel Sidney’s smile against his, and it’s ridiculous, but he feels – he feels so happy, like his skin is vibrating with it. He laughs a little, pulling back, and Sidney’s beaming at him, his big, goofy smile.

“Good,” Sid says, and they just stay there for a moment, legs tangled together and smiling goofily at each other in the hallway. 

And then Sid licks his lip, drops his eyes to Geno’s mouth, and the arousal from before flares up again; Geno can’t not look at Sid’s mouth, can’t not push his thumb against that full, wet bottom lip. Sidney circles his tongue around the tip of his thumb, and Geno shudders. “Still want bedroom?” Geno asks, and Sid meets his eyes, lets Geno press his thumb in, and fuck, Geno wants him, has missed this, and this, this he can deal with. “Bedroom,” he says admonishingly, his voice only a little hoarse. Sid presses up against him.

“You have to move, G,” Sid says, circling his hips again, and Geno can’t help thrusting back, but this isn’t what he wants – not when it’s been almost ten days, not when he’s been worried he wouldn’t get this back. He pushes away, tugging Sidney with him and walks backwards into his bedroom.

He bumps into the bed and falls down onto it, moving up until he’s fully on it. Sidney moves with him, straddles him and leans down. They kiss, and Sidney has a hand under Geno’s t-shirt, rubbing up his stomach, fingers finding Geno’s nipple. Geno can’t help writhing underneath him, gasping a little when Sidney pinches. He drags a hand down Sid’s back, gets his hand on Sid’s ass and pulls him close, feels Sidney’s erection against his, and Sidney pushes into it, into him. It feels good, so good, and –

“Should be naked,” Sidney says, panting a little.

“Bad captain, not plan game,” Geno says, moaning as Sidney makes a _filthy_ move with his hips, thrusting up helplessly to meet him. 

“Thought you were the coach in here,” Sidney says, and there’s something in his voice – like maybe he likes the idea of Geno being in charge – which Geno files away for later. For now, he contents himself with getting his other hand into Sidney’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss as they thrust against each other.

“Whine, whine,” Geno says against Sid’s lips, biting at his bottom lip so Sid can’t respond. When Sidney pulls back, his lips are ridiculously red, and he looks for a moment like he’s considering chirping Geno, but instead, he sits up and pulls his t-shirt off, and – for all that Geno sees Sidney half naked almost every day, it hasn’t stopped being breath-taking here. He takes a moment, just looks, until he can see Sidney getting uncomfortable. 

“Sid,” he says, getting his hands on Sid’s skin, his hips, skating up his chest and trying to pull him down.

“You too,” Sid says. “The game plan was nudity, remember?” He’s grinning, and his hair is mussed from Geno’s hands, and Geno shoves him a little, makes him get off so that he can shuck out of his clothes, stripping down to his boxers quickly, aware that Sid is doing the same. He turns to catch him when Sid’s done, pins him between his thighs and fits their mouths back together. The first press of skin on skin is a thrill as always, and Geno kisses Sid, kisses him again and then pulls away, enough that he can move down to lick at Sid’s neck, sucking lightly at the tender spot just below Sidney’s jaw. Sidney gasps, and moves beneath him, rolling his hips up and tipping his head back, and Geno moves his hand down, down, until he can press against Sidney’s dick, feel him hot and hard, leaking a little already. Sidney keens when he presses down and bites at Sidney’s neck at the same time, and it goes straight to Geno’s dick, has him pressing helplessly into Sidney’s thigh. 

“I –“ Sid starts, and then he gasps, as Geno runs his nails lightly up Sid’s thigh.

“Yes?” Geno says, and his voice is fucked. He looks up at Sidney, head tipped back, biting his lip, eyes closed and Geno could watch him forever, wants to get him off like this, watching Sid shake apart like he can’t get enough of Geno’s hands. 

And then Sidney opens his eyes, looks at Geno and says, “I want to blow you.” He’s not hesitant, not asking, and it’s like the final confirmation that they are good, that they’re settled. The way Sid’s looking at him – it’s enough, too much, and Geno has to close his eyes briefly. 

“Please,” he says finally, and when he opens his eyes, Sidney’s grinning at him, his lips wet and Geno can’t help smiling back.

Sidney pushes him onto his back, leaning against the headboard a little, and they get caught up kissing again, Sid stroking his thighs, sighing into his mouth. After a minute, or maybe ten, Sid pulls away, kisses Geno’s throat, stopping to brush a thumb across Geno’s right nipple, before dragging his boxers down and off. He doesn’t tease – just closes his mouth over the head of Geno’s dick and Geno clenches his hands in the sheets, doesn’t thrust up into the hot, wet welcome of Sidney’s mouth. Sidney’s _good_ – not perfect, perhaps, but he’s learnt what Geno wants, and he’s so into it, hands pressed hard into Geno’s thighs. 

When Geno looks down, Sid’s looking up, mouth red and tight around Geno, and it’s still filthy in the best way; Geno can’t keep from thrusting up, and groans when Sidney just takes it. “Sid,” he says, breathless, “so good, yes,” and he’s babbling a little, mostly Sid’s name, telling him how good he is, how hot. Geno’s not sure it’s all in English. He unclenches his hands, strokes a thumb across Sid’s cheek bone, rubs at the corner of his mouth, and Sidney hums, sounds happy; Geno’s thighs tremble just a little, and he’s close already, like his entire body is easy for Sid. Sidney gets his hand around Geno’s dick as well, twists as he licks down and Geno groans, “Sid, Sid,” he’s so close it’s almost embarrassing, and he gets his hand in Sidney’s hair, pulls a little until Sidney backs off, licking his lips and looking wrecked, a little drool on his chin. He moves up Geno fast, kisses him and kisses him as he jerks Geno off, tight and fast like Geno likes it, like he needs it, and Geno is gasping, babbling into Sid’s mouth, half-English, half-Russian, and then just moaning, “Sid, _Sid_ ,” as he comes, spilling over Sidney’s hand. 

Sidney keeps stroking him through it, until Geno has to shift away a little. Sidney rolls over and wipes his hand on the tissues Geno keeps by the bed, and then settles down next to Geno, resting a hand on his stomach. Geno just lies there for long moments, getting his breathing under control and feeling the last, lazy aftershocks. He doesn’t realise he’s got his eyes closed until Sidney says, “Don’t go to sleep.”

“Not going to,” Geno says, because he isn’t – it’s still early and he’s very aware of Sidney lying next to him, still hard. He opens his eyes, and Sid’s watching him; he’s not smiling, but the way he’s looking at Geno is incredible – it’s heated, yeah, but there’s fondness there too, and Geno rolls over, kisses Sid and gets his hands into Sidney’s hair, tugging him closer. Sidney groans into his mouth and presses flush against Geno, moving a little against his thigh, and Sid is so warm, so hot.

“What do you want?” Geno asks between one kiss and the next, not really giving Sid a chance to answer. He tugs on Sidney’s hair as he licks into his mouth again, and Sid makes a high noise at the back of his throat, keening into Geno’s mouth and even though there’s no way he can get hard again, arousal shoots through him. He moves down to Sid’s throat, tugging his head back so Geno can bite at the join between neck and shoulder, can feel Sid shudder against him. “No answer?” he says, looking up to look at Sid, head back, biting his lip. 

“Geno, _fuck_ ,” Sidney says, opening his eyes a little, and Geno slides a hand down Sid’s stomach, rests it on his hip, the other hand still in Sid’s hair, keeping his head in place. Sid tugs against it. “Please,” he groans, “Geno, your hand, anything, come on.”

“Impatient,” Geno says, but his voice is low and hoarse. He shifts a little away from Sidney, and Sidney whines, tries to follow him. Geno pins him with a hand on his hip, moves his hand down to cup Sidney’s face. “Make you feel good,” he promises, and Sidney smiles at him, lips parted.

“Always do,” he says and Geno has to kiss him, gets distracted biting Sid’s bottom lip, chasing his tongue. When he finally pulls away, it’s to watch Sidney, his hands clenched in the sheets; he feels impossibly fond, pressing a kiss to Sidney’s cheek. “Straddle,” Geno says.

Sid blinks for a moment and then breathes, “Yeah.” They shift around so Geno’s sitting up against the headboard and Sid swings his legs over Geno’s thighs – it’s not an elegant move, but it still works for Geno, makes him smile at Sid, who looks back at him, eyes lidded. Geno gets his hand back in Sid’s hair, pulls him down into an open-mouthed, filthy kiss that has them both groaning, Sid’s hips twisting to get purchase. “Come _on_ ,” Sid whines, and yeah, Geno’s getting impatient too, wants to watch Sidney come, come on him, and he tugs Sidney’s head back, bites at his throat and gets his hand on Sidney’s dick, twisting down as Sidney thrusts up into his hand, his mouth falling open. 

The noises Sidney makes are, objectively, probably ridiculous, but Geno loves them, moves his hand faster, rubs his thumb over the head of Sidney’s dick and then pulls him close, swallows his moans by kissing him. 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Sidney breathes into his mouth, and Geno keeps moving his hand, keeping a steady rhythm. They kiss, sloppy and wet, Sid moaning and swearing against Geno’s mouth, and then he’s getting close, hips thrusting erratically and Geno tightens his hand, works him a little harder when Sid moans his name, and pulls away from his mouth. He drops his head to Geno’s shoulder, presses his forehead in hard and Geno cradles his head, strokes his hair and tugs a little at the fine strands at Sidney’s nape. 

Sidney makes a high, broken noise, and Geno says, “Come, Sid, come on me,” and that’s it, Sidney’s hips move up once, twice and then he’s coming, come streaking Geno’s stomach, hips, dick and Sidney’s breath is hot and damp against Geno’s throat.

“Fuck, _Geno_ ,” Sidney says after a moment; he sounds breathless, worn out. Geno grins. 

“Maybe next time,” he says, stroking Sidney’s neck. Sidney doesn’t seem to be in a rush to move.

“Yeah,” Sidney says quietly, against his shoulder. “Next time.” He sounds – sated is probably the word for it, and Geno rests his hand on Sidney’s nape and just breathes for a moment, enjoys the feeling of Sidney over him like this.

Too soon, Sidney shifts away, moving to sit next to Geno, not touching but still close. He leans against the headboard, head tipped back. 

“Kinda gross,” he says after a moment. Geno turns to look at him.

“We shower?” he asks, and then, without really knowing why, he says, “I play tomorrow.”

Sidney’s eyes snap open. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” he says, “told you. Passed test.”

“You didn’t say Dan cleared you,” Sidney says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed.

“Well,” Geno says. “Got distracted.” Sidney blushes a little at that, and then he grins at Geno.

“Back to normal,” he says and Geno’s heart flips a little.

“Better than normal,” he says, reaching out to squeeze Sid’s hand, feeling silly and sentimental, but it’s worth it when Sid smiles at him and that fond look is back. Geno’s being have good luck today, he feels like he’s on a streak and so he says, “You stay tonight?” Sidney can be weird about sleeping together, but Geno thinks maybe –

Sidney looks down for a moment. “Not before every game,” he says, finally. “We need to be careful, okay? Can’t get distracted.” Geno grins, because that’s a yes, at least for tonight.

“Can’t distract Sidney Crosby from hockey,” he teases. “Sidney hockey robot.”

“Ugh,” Sidney says, “ _Old_.” But he’s grinning as he gets out of bed. “Shower, then wash up?” he says, padding across the bedroom. Geno just watches him, feeling content even though he’s sticky and sweaty and doesn’t really want to get up at all. 

“You go first,” he says. “As usual.” 

*  
Getting back into the changing room is a thrill; Geno can’t stop grinning, at the guys, at his skates, at Sid, at the _wall_. He knows he must looks like a crazy person, but he doesn’t care. 

“Curse lifted?” Neal asks as they tape their sticks.

“Won against Habs, yes?” Geno says. “No curse.”

“Whatever,” Neal says, but he puts out his fist and Geno knocks his fist against it, grinning again. It’s so good to be back. 

The team file out, and Geno faces up against Sid. “Good game,” Sid says and he’s grinning just like Geno.

“On a good streak,” Geno says, watches Sidney’s mouth set, game face on and the Bolts won’t know what hit them. He bumps his helmet against Sid’s.


End file.
